


The Crown of the Villainess

by ouijadarling



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fake Marriage, Isekai AU, Slow Burn, Villainess AU, accidentally deleted this (reposting), mari transmigrates :) and is a bad b, so basically mari is a villainesse and adrien is her tsundere evil magic husband :P
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29805906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouijadarling/pseuds/ouijadarling
Summary: "Tell me who I am and where I am. Now.""M-milady...you are Lady Marinette of the ducal house Dupagne."Lady Marinette? Wicked and beautiful, Marinette Dupagne was the poisonous flower of the court, a scheming villainess who would stop at nothing to destroy the female lead for her own despicable gain.And Bridgette has been transmigrated into her body.She'll have to use all her wits and wiles to survive in a glittering world where every jeweled dagger is pointed at her and every cup of wine is laced with cyanide.[[guys. i wrote this BEFORE sidsinning came out with the au art! the villainess thing is not an original idea oh my god]]
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> repost because i accidentally deleted this due to a glitch in my computer :/

_ Excerpt from The Rose and the Caged Beast: _

_ The heroine turned quickly, her eyes widening. “Your Highness?” _

_ But the prince was not behind her. Instead it was a tall young man, dressed in black, with a fall of pale blonde hair partially obscuring one emerald-green eye. “I was hoping I’d run into you,” he purred. “You’ve made me very interested in you, you know. All these rumors swirling around.” _

_ “W-who are you?” she stuttered.  _

_ He smiled brilliantly. “Your wildest daydream.”  _

_ She didn’t resist as he took her chin in his hand and tipped it up towards his face. “You’re an interesting little flower. And you know what I like about flowers?” _

_ She shook her head, not daring to tear her gaze away.  _

_ “They’re so easy to crush. But something about you….we’ll have a far more interesting time.”  _

When her eyes opened, Bridgette knew something was wrong right away. Her body no longer hurt, and she could move her abdominal muscles freely.

The last thing she remembered was the hospital lights flickering far overhead. 

It had been a normal day at the bakery. Her parents had gone on a dinner date, leaving her to close up the bakery and prepare for the next day. Wiping down every surface, sliding the last trays of dough into either the massive industrial freezer and walk-in pantry for the next morning, and counting the money in the register. That, of course, was when things had gone wrong. 

The first thing she had heard was an enormous crash, and she froze. The plate-glass window at the front of the bakery splintered inwards. “Give me the money,” the intruder said. Husky voice, face covered by a ski mask. Bridgette could almost have laughed at how stereotypical this all was, if not for the gun staring her down. Slowly, she dropped the wads of cash at her feet and raised her hands, stepping away. If she could just reach her phone--it was on the counter behind her, she could--

The thief lunged forward to grab the cash, and Bridgette’s fingers closed on her phone.  _ Hold down the buttons to call emergency services _ her mind screamed. She could feel it vibrating dully as it dialed, dialed...and then the alarm on her phone began to wail. 

She didn’t even have time to blink before a bullet entered her stomach and she sank to the floor. As the black-clad figure dashed into the night, she clutched her abdomen, feeling her pulse throb as the blood leaked out. Dimly, she was aware of other figures dashing into the bakery, and then an ambulance, strapped to a gurney, an oxygen mask over her face as paramedics screamed at one another over her prone body.  
_What was it all for?_

A boring life of school, bakery work, and studies. No time for even a romance or a friendship deeper than study-buddy deskmates. Parents who barely noticed her, customers who never glanced her way. 

_ In my next life, I want to have everything I could not. _

Now, she wasn’t sure who--or where--she was. 

The room she was in was enormous, and fancy as well. A thick lace canopy hung over the four-poster bed she lay in, and she was leaning back on fluffy feather pillows, couched in velvet quilts and silk sheets. Her thin frame was clad in a white nightgown. Physically, she seemed similar. She moved gingerly from the bed, pushing aside the sheets, and crossed the room to the enormous mirror suspended on the other side. 

This wasn’t her. In her past life, her hair had been short and blunt, a dark brown-black. Now it was such a rich black as to be almost blue, and it flowed well past her elbows. Her eyes were still the same, wide and blue, but they were surrounded by black circles. She looked--haunted. A faint dusting of freckles marred her ghostly complexion. The girl in the mirror was so thin as to be almost starved-looking; sharp wrists and collarbones jutted from her nightgown. Her posture was stooped, and Bridgette straightened, hating the way the bones in her back protested. Clearly, the original owner of her body hadn’t cared much for her appearance, which was a shame. 

“My lady!” Bridgette jumped and screamed, turning from the mirror to see a young girl dressed in a black outfit, wearing a lacy white bonnet and apron set. “You’re awake!” the girl said, sounding shocked. She rushed over, pushing Bridgette bodily back into the bed. “Lie back while I have the physician sent for.”

“Where am I?” Bridgette asked, confused. “I thought I was in hospital?”

“My lady?” The girl paused, confused. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” She got Bridgette back into the bed and tucked her in again. “Did the poison affect your mind?” Ringing a silver bell on the bedside table, she cast Bridgette a worried look, but Bridgette wasn’t paying attention. Her gaze was on the soaring ceiling of the bedroom, painted with twisting vines and vibrant flowers in full bloom. Nothing like her old bedroom, with nothing to decorate the blank walls. 

That was when what the girl had said sunk in. “P-poison?” Bridgette stammered.

Regretfully, the girl nodded. “You’ve been asleep for nearly a fortnight. Your father was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up.”

“But--that’s not right. Who would do that to me?” Bridgette asked. 

The girl chuckled as though she’d said something funny. “One of my lady’s various enemies, I would guess. The aristocratic faction seems the most likely.”

“I have enemies?” Bridgette sat upright, and the girl immediately moved to push her back down. 

“You mustn’t move,” she said firmly. For such a skinny girl, her grip was surprisingly strong. “Not until we know for certain that you’ll be alright. Yes, my lady, you have many enemies.”

“T-then…” Bridgette put her hands over her face to block out the sunshine streaming in from the windows. “Who am I? Where is this?”

“Have you...lost your memories?” the girl ventured, frightened suddenly. “My lady?”

“I must have.” Bridgette rubbed her forehead. “I...I don’t know who you are. Tell me. Please.”

“If you’ve forgotten everything, we must do something quickly,” the girl said. “Otherwise the nobles will use this as a weakness and destroy our house.” She didn’t seem to have taken anything in of what Bridgette had said. 

Bridgette climbed out of bed, ignoring the girl’s immediate protestations, and took her by the shoulders. “Tell me who I am and where I am. Now.”

“You are Lady Marinette of the ducal house  Dupagne,” the girl answered. “Your father is the duke, and the head of the imperialist faction that backs the royal family. We are in the Dupagne estate in Voqui capital city of the kingdom of Lyda.”

Bridgette stumbled back a step. It felt as though she’d just been struck by lightning. “Tikki? You’re...Tikki, then?”

The maid looked relieved--for that was what she was, Bridgette realised. Her lady’s maid, who had sworn her undying loyalty to Lady Marinette alone. Not even Marinette’s father, the duke, could command her. “So you do remember? Thank God.”

“I...I…” Bridgette stumbled over her words, her tongue dry and thick in her mouth. “I need water.” 

Tikki rushed to the vanity, upon which was a glass jug of water and a glass. She poured a cup and brought it to Bridgette’s lips so she could sip carefully. When Bridgette had sufficiently collected herself enough to speak, though her hands still trembled, she managed to ask the date.

“February twenty-seventh, my lady. You fell ill at the crown prince’s banquet two weeks previously.”

Yes...this all fit. Bridgette knew now what was going on. In all the webnovels and manhwas she had read, she had never once considered that it could happen to her. She’d simply never thought it was possible. “Bring me a mirror.” 

“But my lady, you…” Tikki evidently thought better of her protest and fetched her a small hand mirror from the vanity. Bridgette held it up to her face, turning it this way and that.

Dark blue-black hair that would be normally tumbling in glossy waves nearly to her waist, and large blue eyes that should have shined with malice and good fun, but were dull and shineless. 

_ The flower of the kingdom raised her wineglass, her lips curving in a seductive smile that struck fear into the hearts of the lesser nobles present. Noblemen flocked to her, begging for even a hint of her attention, but she gave none. She had eyes only for her beloved, the crown prince of the empire: Lysander Endrien Oraikes Callista. _

_ Wicked and beautiful, there were rumors she’d done away with his former betrothed, and would stop at nothing to possess that crown prince for her own. Even murder did not sway her--but fate would have its way, and no good end could come to those who were that evil. _

The villainess of a webnovel, _ The Rose and the Caged Beast _ , that had been completed only two weeks before. Marinette Aria Penelope  Dupagne, who was petty and brutal and stupid, and had died a sad death at the hands of the crown prince after conspiring to kill his pious and beautiful saintess fiancee. 

Bridgette still remembered slamming her phone down in frustration. In order for the crown prince to wed his fiancee, they had had to kill the villainess Marinette, the second male lead, and everyone that had ever had ties with them, including crumbling a large part of both the imperialist and aristocratic factions. It had been so wasteful and stupid, all for a boorish crown prince who was generally a womanizer at that, anyway. All he had going for him were his looks and his title. 

Marinette hadn’t deserved to die, either. They could have just banished her to the south for the rest of her life. Death was unnecessary and cruel for such a foolishly vindictive girl. Which reminded her that  _ she  _ was that stupidly vindictive girl now. And that in just four short months, she would die. 

Bridgette massaged her neck with a shallow gulp, already feeling the guillotine blade hanging over her. “I’m not going to die.”  _ Not when I just got a second chance at life.  _

Tikki looked startled. “Why would you die, my lady? You’ve only just woken.”

Bridgette beckoned her over. “Come here, Tikki.” Another pitiful side character, Tikki had died in the webnovel as well after trying to poison the female lead on orders from Marinette. If she had the events straight....Tikki would die in three weeks. “Would you do whatever I tell you to?”

“Without question, my lady. What is my task?”

“No, you misunderstand.” Bridgette was slipping into the formal tone that webnovel characters took, and it was easy. Fun, almost. “I was just asking. If I were to have you poison the Saintess, would you do it?”

“Absolutely.” Not even a moment of hesitation. It was admirable, very much so. 

“Good. That’s what I don’t want you to do. Not at all.” Bridgette took her hands and grasped them firmly. “I don’t want to die, nor have you die on my behalf. That’s why we’re going to leave the kingdom as soon as possible.”

Tikki gasped. “My lady? But...but that means you won’t be able to marry the crown prince.”

“I don’t plan on marrying anyone,” Bridgette said. Not if it meant her head would be the first to go. “I want freedom. I’m tired of playing stupid.”

“If it’s what you desire,” Tikki said. “I will help you.”

And there was something else too. The second male lead. How often had she gone a sleepless night, crying over the latest development in the story? How often had she wished that the heroine had chosen him rather than the crown prince? The archduke Adrien Agreste, who was fated to die alongside Lady Marinette, for the crime of loving the female lead. The crown prince had had him convicted of treason on false charges by planting false documents that made it seem as though Archduke Agreste had his sights set on the throne, along with the aristocratic faction. 

Bridgette had read the chapter where he and Lady Marinette had been executed one after the other through teary eyes. Remembering this, her hands trembled.  _ I can’t let my favorite male lead die. _

Most isekais she’d read had the hapless transmigrator determined to make the plot go right without a single hitch, and make the male lead end up with the female lead exactly as destined. By doing so, they’d inadvertently make  _ themselves _ the female lead, and then try to get out of that role with all sorts of stupid ideas. 

That was when Bridgette made a promise. There was no way she was going to let the plot happen. And there was no way she was going to just haplessly, accidentally, become the female lead. 

No. She was going to do it all. 

Be the spiteful, evil villainess. 

Save her male lead. 

Become the female lead and get the crown prince away from the original Saintess female lead of the novel.

And derail the plot so completely that there was no way that miserable excuse of a crown prince could ever take the throne.

“Because there is no way that I’m going to die in four months,” she vowed. 


	2. Chapter 2

_ Excerpt from the Rose and the Caged Beast: _

_ The heroine curled her mouth in a practiced smile, the rose tint on her lips and cheeks shimmering to match her ruffled pink tea dress. “Lady Marinette, I confess myself surprised that you would invite me to a tea party, and on my own, at that. I thought you disliked me.” _

_ Marinette’s tinkling laugh rang out as she watched her enemy raise the cup to her lips and take a sip. “That’s why I planned this little tête-a-tête. To absolve us of misunderstandings. After all, misunderstandings can be...deadly.” _

_ The heroine batted her lashes, then gave a small cough. “Pardon me,” she said, patting her lips with a handkerchief. As she removed it, a horrified gasp tore itself from her mouth. The embroidered handkerchief was stained with blood.  _

_ Marinette chuckled, ignoring her beseeching hand and making no move to help. She watched in satisfaction as the female lead’s huge eyes welled up with frantic tears as she coughed harder, harder, harder… _

_ And collapsed off her chair, blue and unconscious. _

_ Marinette swept her skirts up and away from the spread hair of the fallen girl, taking care to tread heavily on her hand. “You never learn, do you?”  _

Marinette lifted the bone china teacup to her lips, ignoring the way her hands trembled as she looked into the narrowed eyes of the Crown Prince. Lysander Callista, Crown Prince of Lyda. His hair was a tawny auburn, a glossy sweep of curls matching his brownish eyes. He looked like a fox. 

A fox with no qualms about eating someone alive. 

Thick white clouds floated lazily against a crisp blue sky, and only the faintest of breezes blew, ruffling through the lazy leaves of the decoratively trimmed hedges surrounding the small islet of garden that they were in. Marinette wished she’d been more specific when she asked the butler to see to a quick tea in the garden, but when the prince had shown up without a word in advance, she had been rattled, to say the least. So now here they were, in what was quite possibly the most irritatingly intimate little setup that had ever been created, if that was possible.

“How have you been, Lady Marinette?” Lysander asked her. Plucking a pastry from a plate in front of her, he took a delicate bite, closing his eyes momentarily. They were seated in one of the many gardens of the Dupagne estate, the two of them sitting across from each other at a small tea table. Marinette choked on her tea and quickly spat it back into her cup, patting her lips with a napkin.

“I’ve recovered,” she replied evenly. “I was surprised that you would come all the way from the palace to see me, your Highness.”

Lysander arched a questioning eyebrow. “Your Highness? What happened to Lys?” 

Marinette winced, remembering the cloying nicknames that the previous her had bestowed upon the crown prince. “I…”

Noting her hesitation, he backed down. “I was only joking, my lady. But truly, is it abnormal for a man to visit the home of his betrothed? You don’t know how I worried about you.” A lie. In the original novel, he was the one who had poisoned her after she pushed one of his concubines down the stairs, breaking her neck. The female lead of the novel would not appear for some time, but the prince already hated Marinette. 

“I admit that I am hurt at your indifference, my lady.”

“I would have been less indifferent if you had bothered to send word in advance of your coming,  _ my prince. _ ”

To her horror, he chuckled. “Touché.”

Marinette didn’t reply, instead scrutinizing the dessert selection. Pastries and teapots vied for space atop a white silk tablecloth, everything covered with cream and sugar and candied fruits. Her hand hovered over the spread before landing on a small plate of pink-and-white macarons with a vanilla centre. She bit into it delicately, closing her eyes in relish. She hadn’t had a macaron this good in weeks--not, anyway, since she’d awoken in this strange new world. 

The prince was talking again, about some hunting competition coming up that he was to be the guest of honor at. Marinette’s eyes lingered on him; his red coat with gold braid, the white gloves he wore to protect his hands, the belt slung on his hips that held his jeweled sword sheath. 

_ The sword that had cut off first her hair, and then her head. _

_ “Death to the witch!” _

_ “Slay the murderer!” _

_ “Any last words, Lady?” His voice was cold and cruel, the title screamed like a curse at her. She had long since been stripped of it. This was only a pretense. She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Lys...don’t…” _

_ “I fucking hate that nickname,” he spat, and then the first blow rippled the hairs on the back of her neck. Blue-black curls swept down to adorn the floor around her. Marinette was on her hands and knees in the throne room, dressed in chains and rags.  _

_ “Please…” _

_ The second blow separated her head from her shoulders, and the watching crowd cheered as it fell, rolled to a stop at the feet of the once-prince, now supreme ruler of Lyda.  _

_ “All hail to the glory of the King!” _

Marinette set down her teacup, letting it clatter loudly in her saucer. Lysander looked up, surprised, but the momentary emotion faded from his eyes, to be replaced with suspicion. 

“Is something wrong?”

Dark clouds rolled across the once-blue sky, casting the two in shadow.

“Yes,” Marinette said firmly. Lysander laughed. “What is the matter? Have I not given you enough gold? Jewels? Do you require another dozen dresses? Whatever you ask of me, I will provide it.” He punctuated this with a mocking half-bow. Marinette’s lip curled. “Anything?”

“Anything?”

“Then let’s annul our engagement.”

Lysander’s mouth popped open. For once, he was at a loss for words.

“Y..you don’t mean this.” 

It was Marinette’s turn to sweep a mocking bow. “I can assure you,  _ Lys, _ that I do. And here's the truth: I never wanted to marry you, not even for a second, because you’re a spoiled, self-centered, obnoxious  _ prick. _ ”

She stood up. “The butler will escort you out. Good day.”

She left the garden via one of the cobblestone paths, one of the outdoor maids bobbing along nervously in her wake, leaving Lysander open-mouthed and gasping like a landed goldfish. 

“What the hell have you done?” 

Marinette looked up from her book as her father stormed into the room. “Have you lost your mind?”

“I’m perfectly sane, Father,” she replied. Behind him, Tikki peeked into the room fearfully, then retreated, ostensibly to go warn the other maids from the area. Her father was red-faced and raging, and his cravat had come undone. Swearing, he picked up a small vase from a low table near the door and threw it at the wall. It smashed next to Marinette’s head, plaster and bits of pottery raining down. She flinched imperceptibly, but that was all he needed. “You are going to go to the palace right now and tell the prince that you had a temporary loss of your senses and you want to remain engaged. NOW! The church is frantic.”

“No.”

Her father, who had turned to leave, swiveled on his heel. His nostrils flared like a bull’s. “What did you  _ just  _ say to me.”

“I--I said no. I don’t want to marry him.”

All at once, her father deflated. Like wind leaving the sails of a ship, the redness drained from his face and his posture stooped. He looked old and tired and sad. Marinette almost pitied him. 

“You’ve lost your mind,” he said quietly. “You realize no man will ever want to marry you after this?”

_ Actually, I have one in mind. _

Marinette smiled at her father. “I don’t care.” He stuttered for a while longer, but it was empty air and empty words. He had already given up.

He left then, slamming the door behind him. She could hear his footsteps thumping as he departed from her wing, heading towards his office, presumably to answer the numerous missives that the papal sect would by now have had delivered to him. 

Though the old Marinette Dupagne had wanted this marriage just as much as her father had, this was nothing less than a political alliance. Her father Thomas Dupagne, a highly influential member of the Church of Voqui, knew that by marrying his daughter to the boy who would one day be king, the Church could keep an even tighter grip on affairs of state. 

But what he didn’t know was that in two years’ time, the Church would crumble. 

The well-meaning heroine of the Rose and the Caged Beast would stumble upon a secret meeting, pocket a cryptic document, and unravel the layers of deception and embezzlement that the Church had been weaving for years, ensuring the safety of the kingdom for the next century.

It was all so sickeningly righteous.

Marinette went to her vanity, picking up a silver-backed brush, and began to ruthlessly comb it through her blue-black tangles. One stroke, two stroke, ten stroke, thirty, until her hair laid in a thick, glossy sheen of wavy curls against her back and shoulders. She pinned one strand back behind her ear with an ivory comb and smiled, pleased at the effect. 

“Tikki,” she called. Her maid appeared at once, red braids swinging loopily as she curtsied. “Have Sara make me a tray of tea and croissants and then tell the butler to have the carriage prepared. Also, please bring two more maids in to help me dress, if you will.”

Tikki gaped at her mistress, so calmly making plans to leave the estate. “But you...but you...you’re not well yet!”

“I am well enough to make a short call.” Marinette steeled herself, inwardly sighing.  _ The villainous lady is not overly nice. She is cold. Domineering. And most of all, ruthless. _

“A good maid would not question her lady if she valued her life.” Tikki let out a short gasp before fleeing the room, eyes wide.

Marinette took up a small powder puff, patting it across her face until her complexion was pale and even, then spread scented oil in strokes across the inside of her wrists and behind her ears. 

When Tikki returned with tea, Marinette drained the cup in a gulp before tossing it aside to shatter into the carpet. “Pick it up.”

“You…”

“Pick. It. Up.” 

Tikki’s mouth flattened into a thin line, but she knelt anyway and began to scoop the shards of china into her apron pocket. Marinette turned away, hoping Tikki wouldn’t see the desperation in her eyes. Hoping that all Tikki would see was ice.  _ If the original Marinette ever came back, Tikki, I don’t want you to trust me--her--so blindly. She will ask you to poison the heroine, and you will comply. And you will die. I won’t let you die in vain. _

The other two maids came silently to her side, and Marinette pointed to the wardrobe without a word. The dress they selected was a deep, rich purple, bordering on blue, with short, fluttery sleeves and pale pink embroidery. Perfect for a quick social call. 

But this would not be just  _ any _ social call, of course.

“Lip gloss,” Marinette said, flicking her hand to her vanity. One of the maids, the one with watery grayish eyes and pale whitish blond hair moved eagerly to the makeup table, sorting through the mess of pots and brushes and decanters to find the small tub of dark scarlet that was Marinette’s favorite shade. When she opened it, though, Marinette wrinkled her nose.  _ I used to wear  _ that _? Yuck. _

It was far too dark for early afternoon, and looked like something a streetwalker would wear. Instead, Marinette opted for a light pink shade. Like cherry blossoms in the snow.

“But, my lady, where are you  _ going _ ?” Tikki finally gasped after Marinette, now fully dressed, had sent the other two maids on their way.

Marinette cast a satisfied smirk at Tikki as she swept out of her rooms to the grand staircase. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m visiting the house of the Marquis. To be exact, the house of the Marquis Adrien Agreste.”


	3. you ever just say fuck it arranged marriage because i do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what my favorite flavors ARE raspberry and amphetamine and i DID type this chapter all in an hour

_“How dare you steal my fiance!” Lady Marinette spat, and drew her hand back. Before she could react, Lady Marinette had slapped her across the face. “You whore! I’ll see you rotting in hell!” She raised her hand to strike again, but a black-gloved hand closed round her wrist, staying her hand._

_“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. She is a ward of our house and as such, is under our protection.”_

_Lady Marinette smiled falsely. “How kind of you to protect this...ill-bred_ thing. _Marquis Agreste. Does the prince know how...protective you are of her?”_

_“You’re overstepping yourself again, my Lady. Watch yourself. The ones with the most power have the farthest to fall,” Marquis Agreste said quietly, his tone deceptively calm. Masking the simmering rage underneath the surface._

_“I could say the same for you,” retorted Lady Marinette, the spiteful smirk still on her lips. He released her wrist, and she left without another word, although rage still contorted her lovely features._

_But the marquis hadn’t done with her. He still had yet to take care of the villainess completely._

_\--From the Rose and the Caged Beast_

As she stepped from the carriage, the church loomed high in front of her, white pillars carved with the figures of sinners, eyes raised to the sky and hands up in repentance. Marinette felt a small shiver of repulsion as she gazed into the worshipful eyes of the blank marble icons. 

Tikki skittered along behind her, wearing a stiff black satin dress suitable for accompanying her lady for a day of sedate prayer, while back in the road, the discreetly marked carriage was pulling away, the horses working themselves into a trot as they headed back to the Dupagne estate. “Milady, I thought you said we were visiting…” Marinette shushed her as they reached the end of the massive staircase leading to the grand double doors of the church. Curling her lip in distaste as she passed a bowing novice, she crossed into the nave. Red velvet lined the aisle, and only a few people were in the pews, the women with their heads veiled, the men’s eyes closed, all heads bowed in prayer as a priest lit candles in the vestry.

“Lady Marinette,” a soft voice whispered. Marinette turned her head and spotted the person she’d come to see. 

“Rose, I have a favor to ask.” The blue-eyed novice sighed. “You always do. Come this way.” Grabbing Marinette’s lace-gloved hand, she led her past the back row of pews and into a small adjoining room stuffed full of cushions to kneel on, unlit candles, and bowls of water that she’d not yet blessed. 

“I assume you want passage to somewhere?” Rose pushed a lock of blond hair behind the shell of one delicate ear with her finger and held out a scroll. “You know what to do, do you not?” 

“Of course.” Marinette lifted up the scroll, visualizing her intended destination, and was about to tear it when Rose held out a hand, mischief dancing in her eyes. Marinette sighed and motioned to Tikki, who immediately pulled out a small pouch heavy with silver. She handed it to Rose, watching attentively as Rose weighed the contents of the bag in her hand before smiling in satisfaction. “Do come again. _Lady Marinette,_ ” she added with a sweetly mocking smile. Marinette pursed her lips. “How do you know I haven’t gotten all this money by unlawful means?”

Rose shrugged. “I don’t care.” Though Rose was in training to become a full-fledged member of the church, Marinette knew that she had been forced into this life by her family’s sudden destitution--caused, in part, by the Crown Prince, a fact that she hated. Rose’s family had used to belong to the imperialist faction until an accusation of treason had gotten her uncle hung and her father and mother thrown in jail, the rest of her siblings left without assets and without hope. 

Marinette had offered many times to help her, but Rose refused each time. “I won’t be indebted to anyone,” she always replied, sweetly but firmly. 

The scroll tore with a satisfying rustle of paper and the magic rushed out, enveloping Marinette. Her body remembered this. The faint tickle as it surrounded her in a cloud of purple and then the pressure on her limbs as her being dispersed and then reformed.

Eyes opening, her feet landed on solid ground hard enough to make her stagger.

Marinette shielded her eyes from the sky, glancing into the air. It smelled of rain and worse--a distinct odor hung around the gates of the Agreste march. 

Enormous iron gates stabbed thick spikes into the sky, which was overcast and gloomy, pregnant clouds hovering on the edge of pouring. Marinette stepped gingerly into the path and made her way up to the imposing gates alone. No sentinel stood watch, but the gates were chained tightly shut. 

“Hello!” she called. No reply. She rattled the gates with her hand, but no guard came charging from the woods to shoot her dead for trespassing. She let out a frustrated yell and kicked the gates. They barely moved. 

_Creative thinking, Mari._

Pulling off her shawl, she wrapped it around two of the iron bars and braced it. She pulled hard on the shawl. It didn’t give. Holding her breath, she put her foot on the bottom of the gate and then the next, stepping up and up until she was shimmying inelegantly up the gate, her skirts around her waist. Luckily, she was wearing pantalons underneath, so it wasn’t much of an issue.

Two embarrassing minutes later, she was nine feet in the air, gingerly climbing over the top of the gates, avoiding the razor-sharp spikes at the top. One grazed her arm, drawing a thin line of blood, and she winced. 

_Almost there,_ she thought, adjusting her handhold. Suddenly, a loud caw sounded as a raven landed on the gate, flapping its wings in her face. She shrieked and batted it away--

With both her hands.

She only had time to let out a loud swear before she was falling to the ground, her shawl fluttering helplessly at the top of the gate.

 _Crack._ Marinette folded like a jackknife as she hit the ground, her body instinctively tucking into a ball. Bruised, battered, and beaten, she lay curled in a fetal position on the packed dirt of the path, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to just give up and cry. 

Of course, that was when it started to rain.

“Well...you made it inside, I guess. That has to count for something.”

Marinette’s eyes, blurred with tears and pain, opened a crack. Water poured down on her, soaking her dress and hair into the dirt, turning her into a veritable mud spot. Someone was leaning over her, looking mildly amused. “I have to say I’m impressed with your tenacity. Won’t you come in?”

“Who...the fuck...are you?” 

Marinette squinted through the driving rain at the (rather short) boy with green eyes and black hair who loomed over her, holding an umbrella. He neglected, however, to hold it over her at all. Or in fact, offer her any assistance. A faint grin lined his sharp features. “The personal assistant of the Marquis himself.”

Groaning, she forced her body into a kneeling, then a standing position. Showers of mud fell off of her dress. She’d have to throw it out, she thought, sighing. The dark purple fabric was irrevocably ruined--and for God’s sake, they didn’t even have _dry cleaning_ here. The thought made her want to cry. Or laugh. Maybe both. 

She straightened her back and made her voice as haughty and imperious as could be. “Please take me to see the Marquis. I have a proposition for him.”

“And if he refuses?” He was watching closely, waiting for her facade to crack. On the inside, Marinette smiled. Perfect.

“I am Lady Marinette of the ducal house Dupagne, and I guarantee that this offer is something he won’t want to miss.” 

“If that’s so…” His face fell, the smile thinning into a concentrated glare. “Well, if that’s so--” The smile returned, full force, as he extended the umbrella to Marinette. “If it’s so, I’d be pleased to escort you in personally, my lady.”

They walked up the path to the main house of the estate together, Marinette holding her head high. Never mind that her hair was plastered to her neck and back, the intricate updo completely ruined. Never mind that her once violet dress was now a disgusting brown. 

Lined with tall trees, the pathway was creamy pebble, but here and there, small splotches of rust discolored the white stone. “Is that an intentional design choice?” 

The boy escorting her rolled his eyes. “The Marquis prefers it that way. Something about dramatic effect.” 

Actually, that didn’t really surprise her. The stench of the dead surrounded the entire march, like someone had only recently cleared away an entire battlefield of putrid corpses heavy with blood and grime. As they made their way to the front doors, the boy bowed, allowing Marinette to walk a pace in front of him. Thunder rolled as she stepped onto the porch, now sheltered from the elements. A beat later, the massive black doors swung open, and an elderly butler, upright and proper, was standing inside the enormous hall. 

True to his position, he offered no surprise as to why an unescorted lady was admitted entry to the house, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise at her disheveled and dirty appearance.

A slightly hysterical giggle threatened to force its way from Marinette’s throat as she swept into the hall with all the bearing her rank and status granted her. 

“The Marquis is busy at this moment,” his assistant said, appearing next to her. Marinette barely managed not to jump--where had he come from?--before he was guiding her down the hallway and into a room, the door panels carved with intricate friezes of sheaves of wheat.

Instead of a drawing room or parlor that Marinette was expecting, it was a small bedroom, papered in lilac. Four maids were waiting inside, heads bowed, deathly still. The assistant waved to a dripping, grimacing Marinette shutting the door, and they attacked.

Marinette didn’t even have time to yelp before she found herself plunked into a steaming tub of floral-scented water, her dress removed and her hair being combed and conditioned to a shining gloss. 

“Ack!” One of the maids was now scrubbing her entire body with a rough sponge, removing all traces of the dirt and grime until Marinette’s skin was bright pink and sparkling clean. Pulling her out, they gave her a thick pink dressing gown and led her wordlessly to the bed, where she sat down obediently--to wait for what, she wasn’t sure. 

Well, wasn’t sure until two burly men in squire’s clothing carried in an enormous armoire. Setting it down, they left the room, leaving Marinette to the maids design.

Inside the armoire were a dozen of the fluffiest white petticoats, lace chemises and overskirts, plus corsets, panniers, stays, and pantalons. 

They looked almost new, new enough to make her wonder whether this Marquis was even more of a rake than she had previously thought, but here and there, Marinette noticed small discrepancies. A tuck in a ruffle, an obvious crease from wear in a skirt here, thin spots where the owner had shoved their arms through the sleeves too quickly. “Are these clothes someone else’s?” They were definitely not her taste. Too much embellishment. The dresses were all completely covered in ribbons, bows, lace, gems, and flowers.

The eldest maid, about her age, was the one to answer. “Yes. The Marquis has a younger sister, about your age. The dresses are hers. She is at finishing school currently and will return home at the advent of the spring festivals.”

“They’re gorgeous,” Marinette replied, bending the truth a little. Not to her taste, but to others, they were the pinnacle of fashion. The maid smiled. “The Marquis spends thousands of marks on his sister’s fashion alone. He dotes upon her as though he were her father.” Then she covered her mouth with a gasp, looking to see Marinette’s expression at her forwardness.

Marinette didn’t react. Instead, she nodded, trying not to seem surprised, and selected a simple dress with few embellishments--coincidentally, the one that looked the least worn. Whoever this sister was, she was one to catch the eye, and Marinette hoped she wouldn't be too annoyed to learn that a stranger had borrowed her clothes.

A knock at the door had the maids back in formation, and Marinette just had time to push her long hair back behind her shoulders before the assistant peeked in. “My lady? The Marquis will see you now.” 

She took his offered elbow, wincing at her lack of gloves, but to borrow gloves from another lady was inexcusably rude, and her own were soiled beyond repair. Lightly she stepped down the hall. 

The gilt-edged portraits lining the main hall had heavy stares, and each one of them had familiar green eyes and sharp features. Puzzled, she studied the face of the boy beside her. “You look similar. Are you not of the Agreste lineage?” To ask about someone’s bloodline was rude, but he didn’t seem the type to get offended. As she’d thought, he shrugged easily. “A bastard cousin. The Marquis was kind enough to grant me a position in his household.”

Marinette nodded. This was confusing. The Marquis was dangerous, that much she knew, and he was obsessive. But he was also a charming rake who doted upon his sister and generous enough to recognize a bastard?

The author had never fleshed out his character much in the novel; what a pity. He seemed interesting enough to warrant a sequel, at least. 

The assistant opened a door into a lavishly furnished parlor. Two striped sofas topped with fat cushions sat at opposite ends of a small lacquered table. On it stood a vase of fresh flowers, a bottle of ink, and a sheaf of parchment. The room itself was not overly large, but an enormous portrait of a woman hung on the wall behind a massive oak desk which was overflowing with stacks of parchment, vellum and books. 

The Marquis was evidently an untidy man. Marinette looked with some surprise at the assistant, who hadn’t made a move to leave. “I thought you said the Marquis wasn’t busy.”

He smiled. 

“I’m not.”

With a flick of his fingers, his hair lightened and lengthened until it was all over golden locks in a shaggy cut. His green eyes remained the same, but his clothes changed too, going from a sedate black suit to an elaborate three-piece suit of dark blue fabric. 

“Marquis Adrien Agreste. At your service, of course. Now tell me.” He smiled, but his eyes were sharp and hard. “What is this _proposition_ you mentioned?” 

Marinette felt a cold chill down her spine and twisted her head. “I wouldn’t do that,” the Marquis cautioned. 

“And why not?”

“Because my secretary...that is, the real one...currently has a knife at your back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uptown fuck this shit up 😔👊


	4. um i need help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bitches writing a sex scene: :/  
> me writing a simple pg-13 kiss scene: asdf;;;.///??!!!ohoh i am goibg to HELL ??!!^#%^&spicey hell for SIN i am an///(*&^%$ immoral BEAST@@$%^??!!

_Marquis Agreste inherited the title when he was fourteen years old, the youngest of four sons. The first one seized the title after their father died, their mother ill with grief and never to rise from her bed again. The oldest son was cold and brutal, and he had a vicious streak that extended as far as violently attacking his youngest brother when something didn’t go in his favor._

_Unfortunately for him, the second brother was as sly and dishonest as he was handsome, and the first brother found his throat slit from ear to ear on Easter Sunday. The second Marquis Agreste to inherit the title didn’t have long either, as the third brother was sadistic and violent, and though he promised his loyalty to the second brother, he killed him a week later and called it an accident._

_The youngest brother had not yet entered society when his remaining brother, now the Marquis, attacked him late one night, determined to wipe out any contenders for his seat. No one knew quite what had happened, but the youngest, Adrien, fourteen then, was covered in blood, but not his own, by the time dawn broke, and his elder brother, the now-late Marquis, was in pieces on the floor of the entryway._

_Adrien inherited the title, and no one contested it._

_\--From the Rose and the Caged Beast_

Marinette turned her lips up in a smile to hide her real expression, which was halfway between shock and a smirk--she’d very much expected some sort of dramatics. After all, what was a light novel without some sort of cliched trope or dramatic reveal?

The Marquis regarded her with a cool gaze. “I think I’m bored, actually.” He turned to go.

“You’ll be making a big mistake if you leave now,” Marinette said. 

He turned back. “And why is that?” 

Good, she had his attention piqued, at least for a little bit. She smiled, ready to deliver the final blow. “Because I want to marry you.”

There was a loud cackle behind her, and startled, she turned. A short boy with spiky black hair and big green eyes had dropped a short-bladed dagger to the floor and was currently laughing with his arms around his stomach. “I like this one!” He cackled again before regaining his breath. “Please pick her.”

“I didn’t ask you,” the Marquis snapped. “And pick up that dagger. What good is a secretary who can’t even hold onto a weapon?” The boy shrugged, still laughing under his breath. With an annoyed huff, Marquis Agreste turned back to Marinette. “I don’t think you meant that.”

“I did,” Marinette confirmed. “And I think you would be wise to accept my proposal.”

The Marquis sat down behind the enormous oak desk, steepling his fingers together. Though his eyes were narrowed, his expression set, a spark of interest was kindling in his eyes, flecks of gold dancing in the green. _To catch a fish, you first throw some bait._

“I know the rumors surrounding you must be terrible to hear, especially for a man of your status and importance to the empire.” Marinette batted her lashes, hoping her eyes looked dewy and sympathetic. 

The Marquis frowned. “Rumors? I have heard no rumors.” 

_When the fish takes the bait, a slight tug is needed to embed the hook._ “Well...since you are unmarried, the rumors are mostly regarding…um…”

A loud choking noise interrupted Marinette, and she turned in her seat. Plagg’s face was a delicate shade of purple, and he was coughing like a cat with a hairball. “K-ackk! Sir...if I may, she’s saying that people think you’re a _homosexual.”_

“What’s wrong with that?”

Marinette gaped at the Marquis, who looked perfectly untroubled as he lounged back at his desk. “This is 5781. I don’t think anyone who values their life would have a problem with whoever I decide to wed.” 

“So marriage _is_ one of your desires?”

“I never said that.” The Marquis raised an eyebrow. “I just said that it shouldn’t matter who I marry.” 

Marinette huffed in frustration, balling up her fists. She felt like she was tracking herself in circles. “Fine. We’ve established that you prefer the same sex.”

“I never said that either.”

“Ugh!”

“Look at her face,” Plagg snickered. “She’s angry. Adrien, you made her angry.” 

The Marquis shrugged nonchalantly as Marinette breathed hard through her nose, hoping her complexion would regain itself. Shame she couldn’t say the same for her dignity. 

_Back to square one._

“Fine. I didn’t want to play this card, but since you insist on being difficult, I’ll tell you. I am aware that you tried to poison the Crown Prince two weeks ago.” 

_Slam!_

“Where the hell did you hear that?” The Marquis had slammed a fist down on his desk, startling several papers into the air. Marinette watched wide-eyed as they wafted down like falling leaves, gently settling onto the carpet. 

“I won’t repeat myself. Where. Did. You. Hear. That.”

“Information is like undergarments; I don’t plan to reveal either anytime soon.” Marinette smiled coyly and tried to flick her fan gracefully. The tassel on the end slapped her on the cheek and she hastily shut it again. 

The Marquis sat back in his chair with a sigh, rubbing his temple with a forefinger and she watched in satisfaction as his brow wrinkled in thought. 

“I give up,” he said finally. “You know now, so what do you plan to do? Go and tell your lovely fiance that the Marquis, the most faithful dog in the empire, has finally bitten the hand that fed him?”

“No.” 

Her answer seemed to stop him. He looked up at her, green eyes wide. “...No?”

“No,” Marinette repeated. “He is no longer my fiance, and I feel no loyalty to him. That’s why…” _Cards on the table. All in._ “I need your protection.”

The Marquis laughed aloud, surprising her. “Why would the heir to the Dupagne estate need protection? You have power, money, respect. I have nothing except my title, a few loyal servants willing to waste their service on a crumbling estate and a master known as the rabid dog of the emperor. What in glory could I possibly offer you?”

Marinette slammed a hand flat on the table. “If we’re going to get married, that’s the first thing you need to change. You will have my money and your reputation. A rabid dog is better than a sleeping one.” 

He smirked, but it faded quickly. On the desk beside his hand was a quill and a large inkpot, and he picked up the quill, dipping it into the ink. Marinette felt a small spark of panic in her chest that she quickly quelled. _You are strong. Stronger than this._

“The Dupagnes are the last bastion of the imperial faction. Lysander has the aristocracy practically in the palm of his hand. They know that as soon as he takes the throne, they will have all the power that the old emperor never gave them.”

“Choose your next words carefully,” the Marquis warned. “Lest you forget, I am aristocracy as well.” 

“Yet you are not aligned with Lysander. As soon as his father dies, you are an enemy to him. Were you not a designated heir as well?” 

The Marquis nodded. “In the event that the Crowned Prince died before designating his own heir, succession passes to me. I am all too aware of this. You act as though I did not receive the same education you did.” There was a harsh note of annoyance in his voice, and Marinette hurried to continue.

Though the emperor had had many daughters, both bastard and full-blooded, divine right demanded that the line of succession pass through all male heirs before a daughter be designated as emperor. Therefore, in the event that the Crown Prince died, the Marquis would take the throne, being a cousin to Lysander.

“I am the last daughter of the Church. If he does not marry me, the Church is free to oppose Lysander--and he knows already that his grasp on the throne is tenuous at best. If the Church turns against him, the aristocratic faction might follow. His only option…”

Plagg slid a silver tray onto the table bearing an icy pitcher of swirling water, and Marinette paused to take a sip from a glass. Her throat was raw. 

“He’ll kill me as an example of what happens if you go against the power of the royal family.”

“Your death does not concern me.”

“But being emperor does.” 

“Explain yourself.” 

Marinette leaned forward, enunciating each word slowly and clearly. “If you marry me, you will offer me the protection of the House of Agreste. In return, I will make you the emperor, and we will divorce in three years.”

“Divorce? Why would we do that?”

_Because once Lysander is dead, there will be nothing to stop you from finding your happily-ever-after with the female lead._

She attempted a smile. “I would make a terrible Empress. Me, in charge of the whole Empire?” She shuddered. “No, thank you. As I said, we will divorce, and I will retire peacefully to the countryside to live out my days.”

Hardly daring to meet his eyes for fear of the dismissal they would hold, Marinette was dumbfounded to hear his assent. Standing, his full height was just above six feet, and he towered over her petite frame. She stood to match him, extending her hand.

“Shall we shake on it?” His eyes gleamed with mischief as he took her hand. His skin was smooth and warm through his glove, and a slight chill went down her spine. “Plagg, you can go,” the Marquis directed. “This contract will be drawn up in private.”

“Sir…”

_“Go.”_

Subdued, Plagg nodded a respectful bow and left the room. 

Marinette was the first to drop the handshake, placing her hand behind her back respectfully. Slowly, he turned on his heel and went to the desk, where he had recorded faithfully all of her demands on a piece of parchment.

  1. The Marquis Adrien Agreste agrees to marry Lady Marinette Dupagne for the duration of (3) years
  2. a. after which a divorce will be peacefully carried out.



2\. The lady Marinette Dupagne promises to place the Marquis Agreste on the throne 

a. Using whatever means at her disposal 

b. If she should fail, no blame should be cast upon the Marquis 

c. If she is not put to death for treason

d. They will divorce at the above-written time.

3\. All the power and protection of the house of Agreste will go to Marinette Dupagne as the Marchioness.

4\. The lady will do all in her power to act as the wife of the Marquis for all intents and purposes, and vice versa.

_Signed._

Marinette read it over again, trying not to shiver. _This is high treason._ _I could...could die for this._

“It’s worth it to survive.” She didn’t realize she was speaking out loud until the Marquis replied. “I’m glad you think so.” Though the teasing note was gone from his voice, it was still all too present in his face.

That is, until he kissed her. 

His lips met hers gently, and Marinette unconsciously leaned into the kiss as one of his hands wrapped around her waist. Like a slow-burning flame, her whole body felt deliciously light and warm; and untethered, she could float away on this not-quite dream. He nipped at her lower lip, almost teasingly-- _damn him--_ and then he broke the kiss. 

Gasping slightly, Marinette pressed the back of her hand to her burning cheeks as Adrien stepped nonchalantly away from her. “Not bad for our first kiss.”

“Not...bad?”

He shrugged. “Sure. You aren’t terrible at kissing. Have you had practice before? I hear it’s common for a lady to experiment on the stable-boys before a proper engagement.”

She lunged at him. “You _scoundrel!”_ Easily, he dodged her clawed fingers, chuckling darkly as she skipped around him. The hem of her dress caught on the low table and the pitcher of water went over with a crash, spilling across her dress. Marinette shrieked as she was doused in icy water, and before she knew it, she was _falling…_

Directly into the arms of the Marquis. 

She looked hard into his eyes, barely noticing how close they were to each other. Noticing...that his lips were an inch from her own. Her breath caught---did his?

“M-my lord…”

He grinned. “Call me Adrien.”

This embrace was too intimate for comfort, and Marinette pushed on his unyielding chest in a futile attempt at release. That was, of course, when the door swung open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;;; i hate it here that kiss scene was so hard to write i feel like a slut


End file.
